


The Straight & Narrow

by astrangerfate, orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, Other, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-15
Updated: 2007-06-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:48:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrangerfate/pseuds/astrangerfate, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You were drunk off your ass last night," John said. It was not a question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Straight & Narrow

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gen discipline fic, and does contain the spanking of a 23-year-old Dean Winchester by his father. If you don't like, for God's sake, don't read.
> 
> I own nothing, as ever.
> 
> This was written in response to a prompt inspired by the episode 'Playthings' and asking for John punishing Dean for drinking on a hunt.

Dean threw down the phone in disgust. On his third try in as many minutes, it had gone to voicemail after only two rings, assuring him that Sam was deliberately screening—and ignoring—his calls. "Dammit, Sammy," he swore, tears threatening to spill. "Why'd you shut me out of your life like that?" He caught his breath, stood up abruptly, grabbed his keys and left the hotel room. Screw waiting around. He wanted to get his brother out of his mind, and fast.

***

"Hey, sugar," said the blonde behind the bar, eying him appreciatively. "What can I get for you?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at her. "Where to begin?" he asked. "But if you're talking about drinks, surprise me."

"I'll need to see some ID," she said.

He pulled out a badge. "Detective Steve Walsh," he said. "Now I'll need to see your ID, miss, because you look pretty young to be serving alcohol."

"Will you look at that, I left my license at home," the blonde said. "But here, take one of my cards. You can give me a call if you need to check up on it."

She handed over a cutesy pink business card which identified her as Sandi Turner. "But what brings you out here, Detective?" she asked. "Anything to do with those girls?"

"I'm off duty," Dean said, knowing he should be taking the opportunity to question her. But they were practically certain it was a Kayeri, even though they were usually much farther south, and Sandi looked like she wouldn't have too much information anyway. "Besides, those girls are disappearing in pairs. And in fact, Sandi, I'm really just here for you." He took a gulp of the drink she'd brought him, some type of vodka and punch. Chick drink.

"I'm off at midnight," she said. "First one's on the house." Of course, that was enough invitation for Dean to order another. And another. His cell phone rang at around 12:30, and he turned it off. He couldn't have John disturbing him again, not when Sandi was warming up so nicely. He kissed her, hard, aware that in the morning he'd have one hell of a headache and far past caring.

***

Dean made his way back to the hotel room at four in the morning, Sandi's business card tucked in his wallet. He didn't turn on the light or stop on his way to the bed, but somehow John woke up anyway.

"Where the hell have you been and why was your cell phone turned off?" his father asked, but without his usual sharpness. Dean imagined that John was too tired to push him, so he didn't bother with explanations.

"Shit, my phone was off?" he asked. "I didn't notice. Must have accidentally gotten turned off after the bar. I'm sorry, Dad, I thought you weren't calling cause you were still out staking that son of a bitch."

"Some girl, huh?" asked John.

"Yes, sir," Dean said. "Again, sorry if I worried you."

"We'll talk about it in the morning," John said. "Right now I'm more interested in getting some sleep."

"Yes, sir," said Dean, relieved. "Goodnight." He passed out like a light.

***

Only five hours later, John pulled the curtains open, exposing Dean to the blinding sunlight only found in cheap hotel rooms facing east. Dean groaned. His head felt like it was about to split open and the sour taste in his mouth reminded him of how much he probably needed to hurl.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," his father said sarcastically.

Dean sat up, trying to act nonchalant. "Hey, Dad," he mumbled.

"Hey, yourself," John replied. "Now, Dean, I want you to tell me honestly. Did you turn off your phone last night?"

"No, sir," said Dean immediately. "I'm really sorry, Dad. I should have thought to check it or something. I was just a little… preoccupied."

"I understand that," said John. "But it's not like you to be careless, Dean. You're just damn lucky I didn't need backup last night. Now, how many drinks did you have?"

Dean blinked, his eyes still not adjusted to the sunlight. "I guess… three," he said. "I wasn't drunk, if that's what you're asking."

"I hope not," his father warned, "because I've told you before how stupid it is to get drunk while you're working a job. But I think you know your limit and what a bad idea it is to get in over your head."

"Yes, sir," said Dean.

"Some girl, huh?" his father asked again.

"Blonde named Sandi," said Dean, putting enough flippancy in his voice to sound satisfied at the memory. "Apparently she has a thing for police officers. Told her next time I'd come in uniform."

"Did you learn anything interesting?" asked John. Dean frowned.

"About the Kayeri…no," he said. "But it was a fairly educational experience. You know, they say everything's bigger in Texas. Well—"

"I think that's enough information for me," John interrupted hastily. "But son?"

"Yessir?"

"You keep your cell phone on from now on, no matter how pretty the girl is," John said. "I mean it."

"Yes, sir," Dean promised.

"Now we're going out to look for his hole," said John. "He's a rogue, this far north, just like we thought. No sign of any others. No society, so he's probably killing the girls as soon as he rapes them. He's got no reason to keep them around, no wives. It's going to be a temporary shelter. He'll be moving on soon. He's a smart bastard, knows he can't stay in one small town. I figure he'll have moved on within the week."

"All right," said Dean, as though he couldn't think of anything more exciting than kicking some Kayeri ass. "Just let me take a shower and we'll smoke him."

"That's my boy," said John proudly, and Dean's heart sank. He was his father's son, his good soldier, the one who stayed behind to help hunt Casper while all his friends went to college, got jobs, lived normal lives. While his younger brother got the hell out of Dodge, Lawrence, Kaufman Texas and all the other towns they'd saved without thanks. He stumbled to the shower and promptly threw up, letting the water wash the mess down the drain, feeling tears course down his cheeks and blaming it on the hangover.

"If Dad finds out how drunk I was, I'm screwed," he thought. So he brushed his teeth, put on deodorant, shaved. He emerged from the bathroom looking ready to take on a violent spirit or a girl at any bar in America.

"What were you doing in there, shaving your legs?" John asked. "Or just staring at yourself in the mirror?"

"I just realized I really am adopted," said Dean. "I am the only one in the family with any looks."

John snorted. "Well, handsome, get your perfect ass in the car," he ordered. "We've got a demon to kill."

***

As the Impala pulled out of the motel, Dean felt his stomach turn over again. "Shit, shit, shit," he muttered.

"Something wrong, Dean?" John asked.

"I think I lost Sandi's phone number," said Dean. "Guess I'll just have to go back there tonight."

"With any luck, we'll be out of Kaufman by this afternoon," John said seriously. "One Kayeri should be fairly easy to take out."

"You ought to slow down a little," Dean advised, mock-serious. "Enjoy the bits of small-town America we experience. Texas steak is not something to rush through." The thought of food made him feel sick again, and he faked a cough to disguise the gagging reflex.

"That girl get you sick?" his father asked.

"No, sir," said Dean. "Never felt better."

***

As it turned out, they had no need to stake out the Kayeri in his hole. He found them, coming on John from behind.

"Dean!" John bellowed, trying to break the Kayeri's grip. "Dean, shoot the bastard!"

Trying to ignore his pounding headache, Dean shot a bone-tipped arrow at the demon…and straight into John's thigh. His father's yell of pain rang through the woods. "Goddamnit, Dean, who are you trying to kill here?"

Dean aimed again, this time hitting the Kayeri in the side, forcing it to drop John. Swearing, John yanked the arrow from his leg and plunged it into the demon's heart. The Kayeri shuddered, writhed, and shriveled to a dry husk before their eyes. Dean watched, transfixed with horror. How could he have done that?

"Dean, get to the car now," his father ordered, his voice deadly calm. "I'm going to find his hole so we can tip off the cops to find the bodies after we leave town."

"Dad…" he started.

"The car, Dean. Now!" John barked, and Dean hurried to obey.

***

When John came back, he got in the Impala without saying a word to his son. They drove for almost an hour on the state highway before he stopped at a phone booth and called the police. Dean waited, afraid to speak, afraid of what his father was going to say. He stared out the car window as they drove off again and wished for the hundredth time that Sam was there.

After another two hours, it was getting dark behind them. John pulled over to the side of the road and Dean felt his stomach, finally settling down from the abuse of the night before, twist into knots.

"You were drunk off your ass last night," John said. It was not a question.

"Yes, sir," Dean replied. The wait had been agony, but now that his father was talking he would gladly have taken another few hours of silence.

"Care to tell me what was going on?" his father asked.

Dean shook his head. "No, sir."

"All right," said John. "Then I guess we'll just have to do this the hard way." He got out of the car, walked around and opened Dean's door. Then he slid into the back seat and patted his lap.

"You've got to be kidding me," said Dean. "Dad, I'm 23!"

"And I've got a hole in my thigh because you were too damn stupid to admit you were hungover," said John. "Now normally you're responsible. You're a good hunter, a good partner, a good listener. But lately you've been too selfish to think of anything but Dean and you're acting like a spoiled six-year-old. I wouldn't mind if you were still on top of your game. But when you stay out late—don't leave a note, turn off your phone—you're putting yourself in danger. And when you get so drunk you can't shoot straight the next day, you put me in danger too. We could have both been killed by the Kayeri because of what you did. You know you deserve a spanking, now get over here."

Dean walked to the backseat reluctantly. "So you want me to get over your lap or some shit like that?"

"That's exactly what you're going to do," said John. "Now get your pants down and get over my knee."

Dean stared at him.

"One," John began. "Two."

"Okay, okay," said Dean hastily, remembering what happened when John got to five. He unzipped his jeans, tugged them down and lay down over his father's lap.

"Why are you getting this spanking, Dean?" John asked. Completely straightfaced, like he wasn't even aware that he was probably the only man in the Western world trying to spank his 23-year-old son, Dean thought bitterly.

"For shooting you," he mumbled.

"No," John said firmly, swatting him twice, once across each cheek. "Try again."

"Umm…for trying to go hunting when I was hungover? For drinking on the job?"

"That's part of it," said John, smacking him sharply, three times in succession. "And what about lying to me? Turning your cell phone off?" He spanked Dean again, putting a lot of force behind the blows so that his son would feel them through his boxers.

"Ah! Yes, sir," said Dean. "I'm sorry, sir."

"Well, Dean, I'm sorry too, but sorry isn't what I'm looking for," said John. He continued spanking, feeling Dean's bottom grow warmer. "You've been moping around, focusing more on girls than ghosts, and giving me so much attitude I'm never sure if you're sober. And today you weren't. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry," Dean repeated, wincing as the blows continued steadily. "I'm really sorry, Dad. I wasn't thinking."

"That's right, you weren't thinking," John agreed. "You know how damn stupid it is to let yourself get drunk when you're on a hunt. Makes about as much sense as leaving your phone off so no one can reach you in an emergency." He aimed some particularly hard swats to the tops of Dean's thighs, causing him to catch his breath sharply.

"Shit! I'm sorry, sir," said Dean again, helplessly. He had forgotten, in the seven or eight years since he'd been in this position, just how much force John could put into spanking. His bottom had begun to sting pretty hard, and every smack was having a serious effect.

"But what really surprises me," John continued, "is that you'd be willing to go on a hunt hungover rather than tell me you'd made a mistake. What exactly were you trying to hide?" Dean shook his head, unwilling to tell his father what was on his mind.

"Dean, you need to spit it out," John said sternly. "Something's eating you alive and you need to talk about it. Now either you can do it on your own or I can take off my belt for that part of the discussion." He aimed a rapid volley of smacks to Dean's thighs, causing his son to choke trying to hold back tears.

"Ouch! Okay…" Dean gave in. He opened his mouth to tell John the truth, but the spanking and the hangover proved to be too much for him. Tears escaped from his eyes and he started sobbing, not making a sound but drawing his breath in hitching sighs, accompanied by the tears sliding down his face.

John eased up on the intensity if not the strength of the spanking. "I can keep doing this all night, Dean," he said, but the anger was gone from his voice.

"It's Sammy, okay?" Dean said furiously, ashamed at crying, ashamed at his own mistakes over the past few weeks. "I miss him like hell. And I didn't want to talk to you because—because you kicked him out. And ever since then he's been ignoring my calls, it's like he just cut both of us out of his life. And you may not give a shit, but I do!" With that he let himself cry, sobs wracking his body as he buried his head in his arms. "I—I miss him," he cried.

John had stopped spanking when Dean broke down, listening to his older son's anger and pain.

"It's all right, Dean," he said awkwardly, patting Dean on the back with the hand that was now fairly sore as well. "It's all right. I understand. I miss him too."

Dean caught his breath. "Y-you do?" he asked, skeptical as ever. "Because you're sure doing a great job of showing it. Oh, wait, I guess you must, because you're not talking all the time about how he's not following orders. I guess you appreciate him now."

Dean's tense posture showed his anger as well as his betrayed tone. John began to rub his son's shoulders, uncertain of how to proceed. "Look, Dean," he said finally. "I said a lot of things I regret now. Truth is, I was just so afraid of losing Sam…I pushed him away. Not a day goes by I don't think about what I could have done differently, to keep this family together even if it meant letting him go off like that. I'm sorry. I just didn't know what to do."

"It's okay," Dean said. "I get it. I know you've got people checking up on him, I know you still care, I just…miss him." He breathed deeply a few times to make sure he was finished crying. "Are you…I mean, can I get up now?"

"Yeah, son, you can," said John. Dean pulled himself up slowly, then jumped out of the car and turned around to pull his jeans up.

"I feel like shit about shooting you," he said.

John shrugged. "Bone-tipped arrow. It wasn't a big deal. Just be glad we weren't hunting some sort of spirit or something, because if you'd gotten me with rock salt I would have been using my belt, no question."

Dean smiled half-heartedly. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said again. "I screwed up and I'm sorry. Really."

"I know." John stood up and walked back to the driver's side of the car. "And I forgive you. But if you ever—and I mean ever—get drunk on the hunt again, I will tan your hide until you could use it for a new pair of boots."

"Yes, sir," said Dean. "And, sir?"

"Dean?"

"Can I just kind of lie down in the back? I don't feel too much like sitting."

"You go right ahead," said John. He turned on the headlights and drove off.


End file.
